


Bad Movies and Takeout

by thebookishdark



Series: What's the Password? [1]
Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies), Mission: Impossible - Rogue Nation (2015)
Genre: Asexual Character, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-11 22:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5643760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebookishdark/pseuds/thebookishdark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benji's not okay, but with a little help, maybe he will be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Movies and Takeout

It’s a blur, honestly, after the bomb is off his chest. He’s running, making a phone call, more running, setting a trap, springing a trap, driving, debriefing, and then before he knows it he’s sitting in his living room, staring at a wall. He tries to take a deep breath, fails, tries again, keeps trying but he can’t breathe he can’t get enough _air_ why can’t he get air. His vision goes blurry and he feels warmth track down his cheeks. When he finally gets some air in his lungs it sounds like a sob—desperate and pained. It’s shaky going out and he tries again and again and again to take a breath but they’re all short and so difficult and he feels like he’s dying. He almost _did_ die and he can’t see his vision’s gone dark and he blinks and blinks and blinks but it doesn’t work and his eyes feel heavy as if he still had the contact in and there’s a buzzing in his ears and he feels as if he’s still sitting in that chair helpless with someone else’s words coming out of his mouth and why can’t he _breathe—_

His phone rings and it’s enough for a second, to remind him that he’s not in a chair in a hotel room being prepped, not in the trunk of a car, not in a crowded café full of innocent people with no idea that he’s a bomb waiting to go off and kill them all. He’s in his own home. His own cell phone is ringing and he has the power to move—to pick it up and answer it. He stares at it for a second, “Agent Brandt” blinking on the screen, combined with the opening chords of _4 Minutes_.

It’s rung three times before he startles, realizing that he doesn’t want to miss the call—what if it’s important—and he hits accept.

“H—,“ he swallows and tries again. “Hello?” His voice sounds scratchy and he hopes Brandt doesn’t notice, but he probably will.

“Benji? You okay?” Okay so he noticed. It’s fine. He can deal with this.

“Yeah I’m okay, I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be fine?” Benji laughs and it’s the same nervous laugh he has in the field when everything’s going to shit and he’s trying to keep it together. It’s convincing.

“Benji….” A sigh comes over the line. He can practically see Brandt scrubbing his face with his hand.

He is maybe not being as convincing as he would like. It sounds like Brandt is about to say something else so Benji cuts him off. “So! What did you call for?”

“When I got out of my debrief you had already left, I wanted to make sure you were alright. A lot happened this mission.”

“Well _that’s_ an understatement.”

“Benji, do you want me to come over?”

Benji pauses. Opens his mouth to say ‘of course not, I’m fine’ but closes it after a second.

Brandt continues, “I can bring over some takeout? Have you eaten anything yet?”

“I—um, actually, that uh—that sounds great.” Benji’s mouth runs without him thinking about it and once it’s out he doesn’t have the heart to take it back. He _hasn’t_ eaten and Benji isn’t one to turn down a free meal. And if he’s being honest with himself—which he’s deliberately trying not to be—he doesn’t want to be alone tonight, being alone seems like a terrible idea.

“Alright, I’ll be over in fifteen minutes.” Benji can hear shuffling sounds over the phone, a door opening and closing, the sounds of other people, a car honking. It’s—it’s good. It’s something to focus on.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll see you then but, uh, can you stay on the phone?” Benji takes a deep breath and makes himself continue. “I don’t—I can’t—I need something to listen to, y’know? Just. Stay?”

“Yeah, Benji, of course. Do you have anything you want to talk about?” Brandt’s voice comes over the line soft and calm and it’s helpful. Benji almost wishes he can think of something other than Lane’s words and the weight of a vest and the sound of gunshots and the absolute surety that this is where and how he dies, as a bargaining chip and a vessel to destroy his best friend and dozens of innocent people.

“No—no, just… anything that’s not the mission.” He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath—surprised he’s able to.

Brandt hums on the other side of the line. “What’s your favorite cereal?”

“I never really liked cereal, actually. More of a waffles in the morning kind of guy.”

“Huh. I was expecting some English brand I’d never heard of.”

“Just because you’d never heard of Freddos doesn’t mean everything I enjoy is obscure and British.”

“Look, Benji, you _say_ that, but—wait hold on I have to order the food, sorry.”

“No, no, go for it. I can’t complain when you’re paying.”

Benji listens to Brandt place the order—long nights and post-mission dinners made everyone very aware of each other’s tastes and food preferences, especially fast food and takeout. Other tastes—snacks and cereal, apparently—have to be asked by the curious or observed in what little down-time is available.

“Okay, okay I’m back, where was I?”

“Can’t remember, actually, but hey, what’re your thoughts on bad sci-fi movies?”

“Generally positive, why?”

“I’ve got a _bunch_ saved up on my DVR, want to watch one when you get here? I’ve got such classics as Ice Spiders and Piranhaconda.”

“My vote is for Piranhaconda, but I’ll have to see what else you’ve got. ETA five minutes, by the way.”

“Make it three and I’ll toss in a free beer.”

Brandt laughs. “If I make it in two can I call dibs on whatever chocolate you’ve got hidden in the cupboards?”

“We’ll see who’s laughing when you get here and I’ve already eaten them all.” Benji gets up and groans, joints stiff. Thinking on it, he’s not sure how long he had been sitting there. He hasn’t been paying attention to the time. He honestly doesn’t even know what time he got _home_.

“Benji? You okay?” Brandt sounds concerned and as if he’s significantly picked up his pace, breath coming more quickly and footfalls closer together.

“Yeah, yeah, just a bit sore, it’s fine.” He makes his way into the kitchen, grabbing two beers and a handful of fun size candy bars that have probably been in here since Halloween—although if it was _this_ Halloween or some previous year is unclear.

“Did you get checked out by medical staff?”

“Um, well, I think so, probably, they wouldn’t’ve let me leave otherwise….”

“Benji.”

“Fit as a fiddle, Agent Brandt.” Benji mock salutes to the empty living room. “I just saluted, by the way.”

“I’m sure it was very proper and not at all sarcastic. Rounding the corner to your place now.”

Benji pulls his phone from his ear to check the time. “You’ve made excellent time, really, you deserve at least half the chocolate I pulled out of the secret drawer.”

“It’s not secret if it’s the one right by the silverware, Benj.”

Benji’s about to reply that it is indeed a secret drawer as long as nobody looks there when there’s a knock at the door. His breath catches for a second as he makes his way through the room, worst-case scenarios running through his head, but his fears are eased when he looks through the peephole and only sees Brandt standing there smiling on his phone and holding a large bag of Chinese food.

He takes a deep breath and opens the door before hanging up the phone, trying to smile convincingly, as if twenty minutes ago he wasn’t having a panic attack on his couch. Brandt probably knows already, though, which is why he’s here, looking at ease entering Benji’s house and putting the food on the table next to the beers and chocolate. Benji locks the door after him and follows into the other room.

“Smells good,” Benji states as his stomach lets out a rather loud growl. Both men pause for a moment before laughing, Brandt grabbing a carton of food and practically shoving it at Benji, who takes the food graciously and grabs a pair of chopsticks and a beer before heading to the couch. Brandt’s hot on his heels with his own food and beer, settling in next to Benji once he sits. They’re close enough that their elbows brush against each other as they eat but it’s a nice reminder of his physical presence. They’re sitting here on Benji’s couch, safe and sound, eating Chinese food in comfortable silence.

A silence which Benji, of course, breaks. “So. About that movie then?”

Brandt simply gestures toward the TV with his chopsticks, mouth full.

Benji grabs the remote, turning on the TV and flipping through the DVR. “Well we’ve got Ice Spiders and Pirahnaconda, like I said, but we also have Mega Shark vs Crocosaurus, Dinocroc vs Supergator, and Return of the Killer Tomatoes.”

Brandt hums thoughtfully while he finishes his bite of food. “I think I have to stick by Pirahnaconda.”

“Always a good choice.”

Over the next hour and a half they manage to polish off the takeout, two rounds of beers, and half the mini chocolate bars. As the movie starts to tick down towards fifteen minutes left, ten minutes, five, Benji starts getting nervous. His eyes keep flicking towards the clock, it’s getting late, Brandt’s probably going to leave soon, and while he’s been able to focus on commenting on the movie and listening to Brandt’s laughter his time is running out. That seems to be something that’s happening a lot to him lately. His breaths come shorter and shorter and his commentary fewer and further between as the minutes tick down and once the credits start rolling he can barely breathe again and isn’t _that_ becoming a familiar feeling.

“Hey, Benji, hey.” A warm hand touches his shoulder and another touches his face, gently pressing until Benji looks at Brandt. The hand on his shoulder starts rubbing circles with its thumb, it’s gentle and soothing, with just enough pressure to be grounding.

“Breathe with me, come on, deep breath in.” Brand demonstrates, taking a deep breath and Benji tries to follow. What happens is more akin to a gasp than anything else but Brandt smiles all the same and encourages Benji to take another, that’s right, just like that, until Benji is breathing normally. He’s left shaking and exhausted. Brandt moves his hand from Benji’s cheek but keeps the other one on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

“Thanks,” Benji rasps, then clears his throat and tries again. “Thank you.”

“What happened?” Brandt looks concerned, and Benji has to move his gaze towards the floor.

“I uh, thought about you leaving—movie’s over, it’s getting late—and then time just kept _going_ and I couldn’t stop it and—“

“Benji.” Brandt interrupts what’s likely to start with rambling and end up with Benji unable to breathe again.

“Sorry, sorry.” Benji takes a deep breath and scrubs at his face with his hands, trying to get ahold of himself.

“If you want to watch another one I don’t have anything to do in the morning. Haven’t seen Dinocroc vs Supergator, anyway.” Brandt smiles, it’s small and a bit worried but it’s a smile, and Benji finds himself mirroring it.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s a good one, you’ll like it.” Benji retrieves the discarded remote and pulls up the movie, hitting play and trying to settle back in as best he can. Brandt’s hand that was on his shoulder moves, and Benji is about to protest, that the contact is really helpful, actually, when Brandt just swings his arm around Benji’s shoulders and leaves it there. Benji starts giggling, because it seems so _absurd_ that Brandt has his arm around his shoulders like they’re on a _date_ or something.

Brandt gives him a questioning look, eyebrow raised. “What?”

“You gonna try to cop a feel halfway through the movie there, Brandt?” He wiggles his shoulder, jiggling Brandt’s wrist, to indicate the position. Brandt actually gets a little flustered at that, and Benji grins.

“I can move it if you want—“ he says as he starts to pick his arm up and move it and no, no that’s not what Benji wants.

“Nah, it’s good, it’s fine, just felt like all you needed was a fake yawn in there and it would be just like a sitcom date.” He grimaces. “Well. Without the,” he waves his hand around, indicating himself, “y’know.”

“Benji.” Brandt says again, but this time it sounds amused.

“Yeah?”

“Watch the movie.”

“I think I can do that.”

They don’t end up finishing it. Not even fifteen minutes into the movie Benji starts nodding off, the events of the day catching up with him. Brandt gently repositions him so he’s leaning on his shoulder, and drags a blanket off of the back of the couch to at least partially cover Benji’s legs as best he can with one arm. Honestly, Brandt doesn’t make it much further into the film, eyes getting heavy as he feels every hour he’s been awake the past couple days. He never sleeps well on missions, and he didn’t sleep at all for at least the past 48 hours.

\---

_’Get him ready.’ There’s a weight on his chest and he can’t move, his lips are moving but he can’t hear the words, he knows they’re not his, there’s nothing but a high pitched ringing and he turns his head. Dead. Dead dead dead everyone is dead there are bodies all around him and he’s the epicenter, where’s Ethan where is he where’s_ Ethan _is he dead, he searches the bodies but doesn’t see him, doesn’t see him, where is he where_ is _he; He looks up, there’s Lane, standing over him, looming, larger than he is, silent, staring, Benji’s body isn’t working isn’t moving words are coming out of his mouth that he can’t hear all he can hear is a countdown, counting down down down and he’s running out of time but he can’t move he can’t_ move— _but then there’s a buzzing in his ear, it sounds like a voice, almost, but not Lane’s, he can’t make it out but it seems important and—_ “—ji? Benji? Wake up!”

He opens his eyes and gasps, heart beating impossibly fast, and there’s Brandt—oh, that’s whose voice it was. Benji blinks a couple times, shaking but unable to move, everything feels sluggish and impossible, but Brandt keeps talking to him, softly but urgently.

“You’re okay, you’re alright, you’re in your apartment, on your couch, and you’re safe. You’re safe, Benji, you’re okay.”

Finally, finally, after what seems like forever of Brandt repeating to him that he’s okay, he finds the energy to repeat, quietly, “I’m okay. I’m okay.” He swallows and it’s difficult, and he tries to breathe, tries to move his arms and legs, just to make sure he can. Once he’s sure he’s under his own control he looks around the room. The beer bottles are still on the table, along with the empty takeout cartons and candy wrappers. The TV is on, but showing the idle screen. The blanket that usually lives on the back of the couch is on the floor near his feet. He takes a deep breath and makes himself get up. He doesn’t think he can fall asleep again after that.

Brandt’s hands fall from where they were on his shoulders, probably to try to shake him awake, and he pushes himself up too. Benji starts cleaning up the table and Brandt takes the other half of the garbage and follows. Benji wants to tell him that he doesn’t have to do that but he’s so tired. Honestly he feels like there’s electricity in his veins that’s desperately trying to cover up how bone-deep his exhaustion is, the feelings are warring but Benji is inclined to side with the electricity on this one—sleeping is the furthest thing from what he wants to do right now.

Benji focuses on the task at hand. Bottles into the recycles bin: complete. Cartons and candy wrappers into the trash bin: complete. He stands for a second in the kitchen, unmoving and unsure of what he can do next. He’s pretty sure he’s swaying on his feet, but if he sits down he’s liable to pass out again.

Brandt steps up next to him and puts a hand on his back, steadying him. So he was swaying. “Hey, is there anything I can do?”

“Don’t let me sleep, for one.”

“Benji… you’re clearly exhausted. I’m not sure that’s—”

“I never said it would be _easy_ , and hey, impossible missions are what we do, right?”

“I was going to say ‘a good idea’. Benji—“

“Brandt,” Benji rubs at his eyes with a hand, and Brandt doesn’t continue whatever he was going to say. “If I close my eyes again I’m just, it’s going to be another nightmare and I can’t—I just, I can’t, okay, not right now.” It’s more straightforward and honest than he would usually be but he’s too tired, he’s so tired, and he just wants Brandt to let him stay awake, for as long as possible.

“Okay, okay. Coffee then?”

_Coffee_ , why hadn’t he thought of coffee? “Yes please.”

Brandt ushers Benji to the kitchen table, he’s less likely to fall asleep here than on the couch, then goes about brewing the coffee. “So I’m assuming watching a movie is out—want to play cards?”

Benji hums. “I’ve got a pack in the living room, which game did you have in mind?”

“Poker?” Brandt shrugs. “We can bet your expired candy.”

“Halloween candy doesn’t _expire_ , it’s against the rules. Poker sounds fine though. Five card?”

“Yeah.” Brandt pours the coffee and brings it to the table, setting it down before heading into the living room to grab the pack of cards. “Do you want me to call Ethan?”

Benji laughs, genuinely. “God no, he’d win all my chocolate. Plus,” he frowns at the coffee in front of him. “I don’t want him to worry. He has enough on his plate without my mental health being thrown in the mix.”

Brandt sits down across from Benji, pulling the cards out and shuffling. “He’d want to know.”

Benji takes a sip of his coffee to avoid talking for a second, but when he does it’s quiet, guilty. “I know. But—I almost killed him, Will.”

“That was Lane, it wasn’t your fault.”

“No, I know but—earlier, before that, in Morocco. He technically drowned, Ilsa saved him but—it was bad, I _insisted_ he could do it, it was my fault he almost died.”

“Benji, he wouldn’t have done anything just because you said he could. You know that. He knows his abilities, just because it didn’t go perfectly doesn’t mean that it was your fault.”

Benji sighs. He still feels guilty about it but, “Okay, fine, can we play cards now?”

“Sure.” Brandt deals, and drops the topic.

They switch to lighter topics—movies that have come out recently, books they’ve been planning on reading if they ever get downtime, places they haven’t been yet (it’s not a lot, in their line of work—Benji wasn’t lying when a huge pull to the IMF is “see the world”), and simple commentary about the game at hand. The small pile of chocolates migrates across the table and back again, and eventually dwindles down in total size as they begin eating the winnings. Eventually they start betting other things like “showers first in the morning” and “doesn’t have to make breakfast” on small scraps of paper because it’s clear that Brandt isn’t going home until at least tomorrow. Once they get bored of poker—and Brandt’s stuck with breakfast duty, a strategic play on Benji’s part—they start playing anything they can think of. Go Fish, War, and even one memorable game of 52 card pick-up where Benji laughs hysterically and Brandt just gives him a look while rescuing a card from the last dregs of his coffee.

The sun comes up, eventually, and Benji blinks blearily towards the light filtering through the blinds. He’s not entirely sure how they’ve managed to play cards for this long, but he’s starting to drift. “Well,” he says, standing up unsteadily. “I think it’s time for some more coffee, what do you think?”

“I think maybe you should try to sleep.” Benji opened his mouth to protest but Brandt continued on, a bit more insistently. “Just for a couple of hours—I’ll be there the whole time and wake you so much as twitch.”

Benji frowns. It’s tempting. He _is_ exhausted, and it’s at the point where the prospect of sleep is looking more appealing and the pros are outweighing the cons. He takes a breath and deflates. “Fine. Yeah, okay, sleep. Just for a couple hours though—three, wake me up after three.”

Benji turns towards the couch and flops face-first onto it, groaning, before rolling over and retrieving the blanket from the floor and covering himself. Brandt seats himself on the other side of the couch, settling in and grabbing the remote. He turns it onto the ever-present Criminal Minds marathon and turns to see Benji watching him.

“What?”

“Nothing, just, should’ve pegged you for a crime show kind of guy. I bet your favorite’s Morgan.”

“Reid, actually.”

Benji hums thoughtfully before repositioning and closing his eyes. “You promise to wake me up right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I promise.” Brandt pats Benji’s shoulder.

He spends the whole time Benji’s asleep attuned to every twitch and sound he makes in his sleep, checking for signs of distress. Fortunately—if you can call sheer exhaustion fortunate—Benji was too tired to dream, really. There were a couple close calls where Benji’s face would scrunch up and look pained but would ease once Brandt started running fingers through his hair and saying his name softly, not enough to wake him up but calming all the same.

The three hours run out and Brandt gently shakes Benji’s shoulder, increasing the intensity until he starts to stir. “Hey, Benji, it’s been three hours. Time to wake up.”

“Ugh, no, five more minutes.” He murmurs, burying his face further into the couch.

“Hey, _you’re_ the one who made me promise.”

“Fine. Fine. I’m up. See how up I am.” Benji doesn’t even move.

“Well. I’m going to cash in my ‘shower first’ card so if you fall back to sleep I’m not going to be here.”

Benji groans and unburies his face. “Fine! You win! I’m up. I’m awake. Look at me, physically getting up off of the couch and dragging myself to the kitchen for coffee.” He does, in fact, do as he says, albeit reluctantly. Brandt smiles as he makes his way towards the bathroom.

“Hey, there’s not some weird trick I have to use for your shower, right?”

“Nah, it’s pretty standard.”

“You’d better not drink all the coffee while I’m in there.”

“And _you’d_ better not use all my hot water.”

Brandt smirks before disappearing around the corner and Benji stares at the coffee pot until it produces enough coffee to fill a cup. He meanders back to the couch, Criminal Minds still on quietly. He turns it up and sits, draining half his coffee once it’s cool enough.

Fifteen minutes later the sound of water through the pipes cuts off and Benji hears a “Hey Benji?” and turns to find Brandt peeking around the corner.

“Yeah?”

“Do you mind if I borrow some clothes, yesterday’s are a bit… gross.”

“Go for it.”

“Thanks.” Brandt disappears back around the corner and Benji refocuses on the episode. It’s the one in Alaska where the kid’s hunting people who’ve abandoned him. It’s not a bad episode.

Brandt re-emerges a few minutes later, but the footsteps lead toward the kitchen, and the sounds of him pouring his coffee filter into the other room. Once he comes into the living room Benji realizes that maybe letting Brandt borrow his clothes was a mistake. Usually Brandt wears suits, or at least a collared shirt, except for the first time they met and he was wearing an admittedly comfortable-looking sweater—over a button-up shirt, mind you—but here he is, wearing an old pair of Benji’s jeans and a Star Wars t-shirt. It’s sort of a shock, really, and Benji finds himself staring.

Brandt looks down, frowning. “Were these ones not okay? They were just the closest that would fit.”

“Yeah, no, those ones are fine it’s just… I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear something that didn’t have a collar or buttons.”

“Just because the tech department doesn’t have a dress code doesn’t mean the rest of the IMF doesn’t.”

“Oh, ha ha.” Benji rolls his eyes and drinks the remaining half of his coffee, getting up to get more. “Don’t forget you’re in charge of breakfast.”

“I didn’t forget, don’t worry, you’ll get your breakfast. After this episode though, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the end.”

Benji sits back on the couch. “I don’t know, I don’t think my stomach can wait.”

Brandt rolls his eyes. “It can wait ten minutes for the thrilling conclusion of a five year old rerun.”

They sit in silence for the rest of the episode, sipping coffee. Once it’s over Brandt gets up to head to the kitchen, taking both now-empty mugs with him. Benji stretches and stands up, walking towards the hallway. “I’m gonna take my shower. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Have fun making breakfast!”

Brandt just opens the fridge and makes a noise of affirmation.

Benji showers automatically. Water on, disrobe, wait for it to get hot, climb in, soap, rinse, shampoo, rinse, conditioner, rinse. Then he just stands there, breathing, letting the steaming water be the only thing he can feel. He probably should have done this earlier, because getting rid of the sweat and grime leftover from the mission makes him feel so much better. Like some residual hold of Lane’s is gone. He knows he’s not okay, it’ll take a long time to be okay, but this is a welcome reprieve. Sighing, he turns off the water and grabs a towel.

He goes to get dressed and has to laugh—it doesn’t even look like Brandt was in here. His drawers are the same degree of just-slightly-open and everything inside is the half-folded mess he left it in, just with one article of clothing gone each. He probably didn’t even realize he was putting everything back exactly as he found it—spy habits, after all. Benji grabs a t-shirt (Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure) and a pair of pajama pants (red flannel). He’s not going anywhere today, probably, and it’s not like he has to impress Brandt.

Benji shuffles into the kitchen and leans against the counter, humming to himself, “Smells good.”

“Did you doubt me?”

Benji pours himself some more coffee. It looks like Brandt had made a fresh pot. “Nah. Surprised you were able to put something together with what I had in the fridge though, I need to do some shopping.”

Brandt shrugs. “You had eggs, so really everything else is secondary.”

“What if I hadn’t had any spices?”

“Then you’d have bland eggs.”

“Touché.”

“They’re ready, by the way, hope you don’t mind scrambled.”

They pile their plates with what is probably altogether too many eggs—did Benji even have that many eggs in his fridge? He must’ve—and settle in at the table. It’s nice and surprisingly easy, to be sitting at his kitchen table across from Brandt, eating eggs and talking about nothing in particular. Sure there’s the easy companionship of teammates, hours upon hours of sitting on transportation together, trusting each other during missions, and the occasional post-mission celebrations. But after being unable to communicate freely beyond a look in passing or the rare call on a burner phone to compare notes, this is… especially pleasant.

“Benji you okay?” Brandt looks a bit concerned and oops, has he been staring this whole time?

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Just thinking. This past six months has been a wild ride, huh?”

“Which part? Ethan consistently dodging the CIA in increasingly embarrassingly hilarious ways or you playing video games instead of working between the weekly polygraphs?”

“Well, the video games were fun, and I the Ethan reports _were_ always good for a laugh but I was talking about how we had to pretend to practically be strangers just to stay in the know. Luther quit, Jane went in deep cover, you became Hunley’s right hand man, and I accepted what is essentially _busywork_ that I could do in my sleep—did, a couple of times—and somehow here we are, eating breakfast.”

“Eating breakfast?”

“Exactly! If we had done this a month ago you know Hunley would’ve immediately suspected us of helping Ethan. I mean, he did that anyway, that’s why he kept us where he could see us, but he would take it as a conspiracy! I would’ve been locked up somewhere, probably, and you would’ve been dropped from in-the-know to so far out of it in the drop of a hat and then we wouldn’t have had any resources. I wouldn’t have been able to go help Ethan, you wouldn’t have been able to get Luther’s help, and either the CIA or Lane would’ve killed Ethan eventually!”

“I probably could’ve sold it to Hunley as keeping an eye on you, but you’re right. Although I wouldn’t be surprised if Ethan somehow managed to do everything himself.”

“I mean, that’s probably true, Ethan’s practically a force of nature.”

The conversation peters off for a while, the only sounds being the clink of forks on plates. The quiet, however, is interrupted by an insistent buzzing from the living room table.

“Shit.” Brandt curses, getting up from the table and retrieving his phone from the other room, where he repeats “ _shit_ ” as he sees who it is. He picks it up and Benji just hears a series of repetitions of “Yes sir” before Brandt is back in the kitchen, looking guilty.

“Duty calls?” Benji smirks, if only to cover up how much he doesn’t want Brandt to leave. He doesn’t want him to feel guilty for leaving, especially when he doesn’t have a choice.

“Hunley’s been appointed the new Secretary, we’re meeting with the committee to try to reinstate the IMF.”

“Shit. Hunley, really? At least he’s on our side now, though.”

“Well, Ethan’s very convincing. You’ll be okay though?”

“I’ll be fine! I have coffee, I have video games, I’ll be fine. Go, save our jobs.”

“Promise you’ll call me if you need me?”

“Yeah, yeah, promise. You should probably go, though, I don’t think the committee would listen to a man in a borrowed Star Wars shirt.”

“So they wouldn’t listen to you, ever?” Brandt puts his dishes in the sink then proceeds to gather the few possessions he left lying around.

“Ha, that’s where you’d be wrong, if it were me it wouldn’t be a _borrowed_ Star Wars shirt, and anyway you know I clean up well. I own a tux, even! Well, not anymore, probably, but that’s not the point!”

Brandt just rolls his eyes and squeezes Benji’s shoulder one more time before heading for the door, throwing an amused “Goodbye, Benji” behind him as he leaves.

“Bye!” Benji calls just before the door clicks shut. He sits there for a second, silently staring at the door, before sighing and looking at the remains of his breakfast.

\---

The rest of the day is surprisingly uneventful. Fueled by coffee, Benji manages to play video games for a couple hours before needing to get up and move or end up falling asleep, controller in hand. He does chores. He washes the dishes from breakfast, makes a list of groceries he needs to buy, does a load of laundry, and by the time he’s completely cleaned the bathroom _and_ kitchen it’s dark again outside. He blearily looks around for something else to do when his phone chirps.

_From: Agent Brandt  
Just got out of meeting with the committee. Sounds promising. You doing alright?_

_To: Agent Brandt  
wow that took them a while, had a lot of explaining to do, huh? glad to know i probably won’t end up locked up for terrorism or something. i’m fine, btw, been cleaning the house_

_From: Agent Brandt  
Do you need me to come over?_

_To: Agent Brandt  
nah, you get some sleep_

_From: Agent Brandt  
Call me if you need me. Ethan would also like an update, ran into him at medical earlier, he asked how you were._

_To: Agent Brandt  
will do!_

Benji sits there for a minute, trying to figure out if he should call Ethan or just send him a text. The choice is taken out of his hands when his phone comes to life in his hand, the opening tones of Secret Agent Man accompanying a screen declaring “Call from Agent Hunt”. He picks up the phone.

“Hey Ethan!” Benji realizes that he sounds utterly _exhausted_.

“Hey Benji.” Ethan’s voice is accompanied by the distinctive sounds of the medical division, so he’s still there, then.

“How bad is it?”

“Not terrible, they’re just overreacting because I drowned a little, checking to see if there are any lasting effects, you know how it is.”

“Ethan—“ Benji grimaces, starting to apologize, but he’s cut off.

“No, Benji, it’s not your fault. It was an unexpected complication with the mechanical arm, if it hadn’t’ve hit me it would have been an easy-in-easy-out mission. And I’m fine, Benji, the doctors are just worrying because it’s their job to worry.”

“We could have found another way…”

“We both know that was the only way, Benji, and it all worked out.” Ethan’s voice gets softer, more concerned. “How are _you_ doing?”

Benji sucks in a breath and tries to decide how honest he wants to be with Ethan.

“Well, physically I’m fine. Not sleeping though. Nightmares.” It comes out bitterly, like he’s upset with himself for being human.

“Regretting not turning me in and staying behind your desk?” It’s a joke, lighthearted, of course, trying to ease Benji back from blaming himself.

“God, no, not for a second. You’re my best friend, Ethan.” Benji laughs, playing along. “I meant it, you know, it wasn’t just trying to convince you to let me help.”

“I know. Hey, there’s a nurse here who looks like she’s about to rip my phone out of my hand if I don’t get some rest so let me give you some advice for the nightmares. Keep something close by that’ll remind you of where you are, that you’re okay. If it’s notes to yourself telling you what day it is and where you are, or if it’s a person to call, make sure it’s close by. You can’t prevent the nightmares but you can make the recovery process faster. It takes time, though, Benji, to get better.”

“Thanks, Ethan.” It’s barely a whisper, but it’s acknowledged with a hum.

“Gotta go, Benji, you know where to find me.”

“Get some rest, Ethan.”

“You too.”

They hang up and Benji is left alone in the silence. He contemplates grabbing another cup of coffee, trying to pull another all-nighter, but eventually dismisses it. He really should sleep. He grabs some post-it notes and a pen, writing several notes to himself. He brings the notes and a bottle of water into the bedroom. Sitting on the bed he realizes that he should have done this a long time ago, bed feels so nice, and he is so tired. He sets the notes out where they’d be easy to see, and composes a text.

_To: Agent Brandt  
going to try to sleep, thought i’d keep you posted_

_From: Agent Brandt  
Understood. Hope you sleep well._

Benji lies down and closes his eyes, quickly falling asleep with the lights on.

\---

Benji wakes, shaking, unable to breathe. He blinks at the ceiling, once, twice, tries to take a breath. That’s his ceiling. He’s in his apartment. He sits up and draws a shaky breath, looking towards the sticky notes on his drawers. Good. Okay. He’s definitely awake. He downs half the bottle of water and tries to calm down. Before he even realizes it he’s holding his phone up to his ear. He doesn’t know who he’s calling, really, until Brandt’s tired voice filters through.

“Benji?”

He tries to answer, he does, but his body hasn’t caught up and he still can’t _breathe_ so he ends up half-gasping-half-sobbing in response.

“Hey, hey, Benji, breathe come on, you can do it. It was just a nightmare, you’re okay.” He keeps repeating everything, guiding Benji through evening out his breathing, talking to him until his heart rate is within an acceptable range, waiting until Benji is able to use his voice again.

“Thanks… for the third time, at least.”

“Benji, it’s no problem. You’re my friend. Friends help each other.”

Benji rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m aware of the implications of friendship.”

“The point is,” Brandt pauses for effect, “you don’t have to keep thanking me. The thanks is implied.”

“I fully take this as permission to never utter the words ‘thank you’ in your presence or ever thank you for anything ever again, since it’s implied.”

“It goes both ways, Benj, if you don’t have to thank me I don’t have to thank you.”

“Seems like a fair trade. Equivalent exchange and all that.”

“You sound like you’re doing better.”

“That was quite the non-sequitur there, Brandt, but yeah, better. Talking’s good—“ He yawns, then continues. “It helps.”

“Do you need me to come over? Second round of poker, I bring the beer this time?”

“No, no, you need to sleep, Brandt, I’m fine. Just, keep talking for a bit?”

“Sure, Benj. Did you know I played chess in high school?”

Benji snorts, amused. “I’m not surprised, you huge nerd. Did you wear thick-rimmed glasses? A pocket protector?”

“No, just played chess. Want to hear the story of how I stopped this kid from cheating during a tournament by knowing Morse code?”

“Sounds thrilling, hit me with it.”

Brandt weaves the story and keeps talking until Benji’s asleep and snoring. There’s a little pause before a “Goodnight Benji” and the click of a phone hanging up go unheard.

\---

Benji wakes up in the late morning, phone smushed against his face. He gets up, eats whatever he can find for breakfast, showers, and goes about his day. Just like before London, before Vienna, when his average routine was going to work, playing Halo, and pretending he hated Ethan for betraying his team and his country. Except when he goes to work—still desk duty while everything is sorted out—he takes time to see the IMF therapist (or, well, she used to be the IMF therapist, she works for the CIA now, just like half the IMF), when he gets home he lies in bed staring at the ceiling for hours until he finally falls asleep, eventually has a nightmare, calls Brandt, and they swap stories about growing up until Benji falls asleep either in the middle of one of his stories or one of Brandt’s. And then he wakes up, again, with his phone smushed against his face, and does the whole thing all over again.

It becomes his new routine, and he’s relatively fine, going straight to work, straight home, and generally avoiding people unless it’s Ethan, Brandt, or the therapist. Which is why it’s a cold night when Benji looks in his fridge, realizes he can’t make anything with a quarter bottle of mustard and a jar of olives, and ventures to the grocery store. He tries to tell himself he’ll be okay, he’ll be fine, nobody’s going to abduct him at a Stop & Shop, he’ll be _fine_. He makes it halfway through his trip, jumping at every noise or person getting too close, before someone bumps into him in an aisle. Suddenly he’s back—someone’s grabbing him, he’s going to be thrown into a car, he’s—he can’t breathe, he needs to get out of here. He abandons the cart and gets out fast. He has to get somewhere safe, somewhere—his team, is his team okay, he has to find them—they don’t have a rendezvous point established, he has to, has to—

He finds himself outside Brandt’s apartment, furiously knocking on the door, gasping for breath, muttering to himself, come on, come on, come on…. Brandt opens the door, gun half-hidden behind his leg but at the ready, scanning for danger. He ushers Benji inside before locking the door and holstering his gun.

“Benji, hey, hey, come on, what’s wrong, breathe.” He grabs Benji’s shoulders and tries to get his attention, assure him that he’s alright. Benji grips Brandt’s forearm, needing to steady himself just a little more, just to be able to feel like he can breathe again, and it works somehow, he doesn’t think it _should_ but it does and that’s all that matters—that he can breathe, that he can think past the alarms in his head yelling _Danger! Danger! Danger!_

“Bumped—“ he takes another breath. “Someone bumped into me while I was shopping, I think, and it just felt like I was back there, that someone was going to grab me, I had to get out.” He swallows. Squeezes Brandt’s wrist a little before letting his arm fall to his own side, limp. He’s pretty sure he ran the whole way here, and he’s tired. “Can I sit for a minute?”

“Yeah, whatever you need, come on.”

Brandt leads him to the couch, a hand between his shoulder blades, a welcome point of pressure to focus on. Benji feels as if he’s vibrating out of his skin, he always feels like he’s going a bit too fast, but this is a thousand times worse—he feels like he’s going to disappear off the face of the Earth. He takes a shaky breath, and then another, and another. He doesn’t so much sit on the couch as he collapses into it. Brandt lets him go and states that he’s going to get Benji some water but, no, he can’t leave he can’t—

“Wait.” Benji finds he’s grabbed Brandt’s hand and quickly lets go. “I just—can you sit for a bit I—I still feel… hunted….” He grimaces, but honesty seems like the best course of action to get Brandt to stay, to be something to focus on, something that reminds him that he’s safe.

“Yeah. Whatever you need, Benj.” Brandt’s expression is infinitely soft when he sits down next to Benji.

“Can you, uh, can you tell me another story, maybe, you don’t have to but, they’re nice and—yeah.”

“Sure. How about… hm… actually, do you have any requests?”

“College?”

“College wasn’t that exciting for me, unless you want to hear about a lot of math. Wait, no, I could tell you about Ian? Have I told you about him?”

“No? Who’s Ian?”

“We dated for about a semester. Spring of my junior year, we met in the library. I was holed up writing a paper and he sat down across from me and started sketching—he was an art major—and it wasn’t until he hadn’t moved a couple hours later that I tried to figure out what he was drawing. I think you can see where this is going.”

“He was drawing you?”

“Yeah, it was pretty good, he ended up giving it to me. I sent it to my mom. She loved it. Anyway, he asked me out, right there in the library. I told him I was too busy with this paper, that he should try again sometime when I wasn’t studying.”

“Cold, man.” Benji laughs.

“Hey, I was trying to graduate a semester early, I had a busy schedule! But the next time I saw him he had a manila folder with the sketch in it, and he told me that he wanted me to have it, and if I wasn’t busy he’d like to have my number in exchange and, well, I gave it to him. He called me up that night and asked if he could take me out somewhere. I had just turned in my paper that day so I said yes. It was a nice date, we just went to a diner and talked but that was it. He was an interesting guy, I agreed to more dates, he didn’t mind my busy schedule. He’d just hang out with me while I wrote my papers, and when I was done we’d actually uh—“ Brandt falters for a second, embarrassed “do couple stuff…. But the fun part of the story is that by the end of the year I found out why we would either always hang out at my place or out.”

“Was he married?”

“What? No.”

“Terrorist?”

“You’re joking, you have to be joking, no I’ve never dated a terrorist.”

“Racist asshole with Nazi flags plastered on every surface?”

“God, no, Benji, he was running a meth lab, he got arrested.”

“He must’ve caught wind of your good morals. You could’ve balanced his books for him otherwise. How did you not notice?”

“Benji I was super busy with my classwork and he kept me, uh, _distracted_ otherwise, I didn’t really care why we weren’t at his place, mine was easier and closer to campus. I thought maybe he had a bad roommate or something, if anything.”

“Yeah, a _meth lab_ is a hell of a roommate.”

They’re quiet for a while, Brandt reminiscing and Benji watching him. Benji breaks the silence.

“So. I didn’t know you liked guys.”

“Yeah, I, uh, don’t talk about it much. It hasn’t come up, really, and well—I was huge in the Boy Scouts and that wasn’t something that you _did_ , it was important to me, becoming an Eagle Scout, so I couldn’t mention being gay. And I didn’t come out until college, and even then it was only my parents, really, which luckily they’re supportive. And, after that, I was recruited by the FBI and it was a government job so I kept it on the down-low. I didn’t really date, at the time, anyway, so it never mattered. I sunk myself into my work and by the time I got to the IMF I, uh, forgot about it. It wasn’t important, I guess.”

“You know we’d be fine with it, right? You could’ve come out to us. Hell, Ethan’s bi and I’m ace. You’d fit right in.” Benji nudges him in the side with a reassuring smile.

“Huh.”

“That’s all you have? ‘Huh’?”

“What do you want me to say, Benji? ‘Wow I had no idea that half our team wasn’t straight’?”

“I don’t know!”

“I mean, I don’t think _anyone_ would be able to get a read on Ethan, honestly, and you—hm, honestly I’m still trying to figure you out.”

“Figure _me_ out? I’m an open book, buddy, ask me anything!”

Brandt makes a show of thinking deeply, humming and stroking his chin while Benji rolls his eyes.

“Okay. So.” He pauses until Benji pushes him in annoyance. “Do you want that water now?”

“ _That_ is what you ask? I give you one free question and you ask if I want a glass of water??”

“You have to answer the question, Benji.”

“Fine. Yes. I’d love some water.”

Brandt gets up, patting Benji’s thigh, and goes into the kitchen. He comes back with a glass of water as well as a sandwich. Benji realizes, as he’s handed the sandwich, that he never did eat dinner.

He takes a big bite of sandwich and, as he’s chewing, asks Brandt if he has any more questions. It comes out garbled and is met with a disgusted look and a “What was that?”

Benji swallows and repeats, “Did you have any more questions for me? Open book rule still applies.”

“So. Ace stands for asexual right? What’s, uh, what’s that like? I don’t want to be rude but I’ve never had anyone really describe it to me before.”

“You’re fine. It’s, well, everyone is different, right, but the way I interact with mine is that, well, I don’t particularly _mind_ sex, or the idea of sex, but it’s not something that I _want_ , necessarily. But honestly, the only definition is the lack of sexual _attraction_ , which, everyone has different levels of how they deal with the _act_ of sex, some people are completely repulsed by it, some people love it, some people are indifferent. But, you know, I’m not aromantic, panromantic, actually, I still have interest in romantic relationships, but it hasn’t really come up, y’know, because I’m so busy with the job, spywork takes time.”

“Benji, calm down.”

“What? Oh, right, yeah, sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, you were just—“

“Rambling, yeah, it happens.”

“I know.” Brandt smiles, then nudges Benji’s arm. “Eat your sandwich.”

Benji takes a huge bite as a response, and Brandt turns on the TV. He flips through a few channels before Benji makes an affirmative noise at Kitchen Nightmares.

“Gordon Ramsay?”

“Hey, he’s nice to the people who aren’t being rude to him. He gave a couple a wedding ring, once.”

“Alright, I believe you.”

They sit there for a couple hours, filled with Kitchen Nightmares reruns and easy conversation. It gets late and Benji tries to ignore the clock. He doesn’t want to overstay his welcome but, well, he really doesn’t want to be alone tonight, either. He supposes if Brandt doesn’t want him here he can always call Ethan, but, well, it’s not Ethan that he’s been calling in the middle of the night, every night. He feels like that’s important, but it’s not something he wants to examine right now.

“Hey, uh, can I ask a favor?” Benji turns to Brandt, hesitant.

“Sure, anything.”

“Can I stay the night? I’ll take the couch I just—I don’t think I can handle being outside long enough to get home, right now.”

“Yeah, Benji, any time. Want me to grab you a blanket and everything now?”

“Nah, I’m good for now. Don’t let me keep you up, though.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They settle, again, Benji smiling softly to himself, with Brandt a comfortable weight against his side. He’s not really paying attention to the television, instead trying to keep awake. It’s a lost cause, though, and eventually—after nodding off a few times—calls it quits.

“Hey.” Benji yawns, and Brandt smiles at him.

“Turning in?”

“Yeah. Can I borrow some pajamas? I mean, this t-shirt is fine but I don’t fancy sleeping in jeans.”

“Sure, I’ll go grab those.”

By the time Brandt comes back with a pillow, blanket, and some pajama pants, Benji is slumped on the couch and snoring a little.

“Hey, Benji.” Brandt shakes his shoulder, and Benji blinks his eyes open slowly.

“Oops.” He rubs at his eyes and yawns again, sitting up fully.

“Here.” Brandt hands over the supplies and turns to leave. When he gets to the entryway to the living room he turns and asks, “Light on or off?”

“On. It helps with reorienting myself if I have a nightmare.”

“Alright. Goodnight, Benji.”

“’Night.”

And just like that, Benji is alone in Brandt’s living room, changing his pants and curling up under a borrowed blanket that smells as if it’s been in the closet for a while. He probably doesn’t get many guests. Benji’ll have to remedy that. But that’s a mission for another day, and Benji is quickly snoring again.

It doesn’t last.

He awakes, gasping, in the middle of the night, the sound of footsteps rushing into the room.

“You were yelling are you okay?”

Benji manages to breathe for a few seconds, sitting up and going through his motions. His sight and hearing are unhindered. He’s in Brandt’s living room. Brandt is hovering near him, waiting for an answer. He checks his voice: “I’m fine”; Voice is functional. Touch—he grips the borrowed blanket in his fist—real. He’s here. All his senses are on-line and his own. There’s no voice buzzing in his ear, no contact blocking his sight, no vest weighing him down. He’s fine. He takes a deep breath. Then another. It’s getting easier to manage.

“Do you need anything?”

“I, um, don’t think so. It wasn’t too bad, tonight, I think they’re getting better. Or, well, _I’m_ getting better, after them.”

Brandt sits next to him, anyway. “Think you’re going to sleep again?”

“Eventually.”

“Well. If we sit in here, we’ll probably fall asleep sitting up, and I don’t know about you but I don’t want to go to work tomorrow with a huge crick in my neck.”

“Agreed. Where are you going with this?”

“Well. If you’re comfortable with it, you could share the bed?” Brandt winces.

“That would be nice. Honestly your couch isn’t that comfortable.”

“Why do you think I never host parties here?”

“Hmm. You’re right. Ethan clearly has the superior couch.”

Benji stands up and grabs the extra pillow, following Brandt out of the room and turning off the light on the way. He expects it to be awkward, climbing into bed with Brandt, but it’s not.

“Do you want to tell a story this time?” Brandt rolls to face Benji, and Benji mirrors his position.

“Sure.”

“Tell a theatre story? Those are always fun.”

Benji laughs quietly. “Fine. Alright which one should I tell, the one with the fire pole or the one with me panicking and taking off my clothes?”

“That is a hard choice to make, I’d like to hear both, eventually, but for now, um, clothes. Mostly because I’m wondering how you panicked and took your clothes off.”

“Clothes it is! So, you know I was always behind-the-scenes, right? Well I auditioned, once, I don’t even remember which show it was for, honestly, but the point is that it was my first audition and I was really nervous. I kept pacing and muttering that I didn’t want to do this anymore, that I _couldn’t_ do this, I’m not an actor, et cetera, et cetera. But then—“ a yawn “—I did it, I got on stage and read the lines, and did everything the director asked, and when I left I felt pretty good. And, well, I got a call-back. And I had no idea what it would be, the call-back, because this was my first audition. Turns out it started out with some theatre games, improv stuff, and one of them was this—“ another yawn, accompanied by a vague hand wave “—game where you walked up on stage and as soon as there were four random people, the director called out a scene, and you had to set it with your bodies. One—that wasn’t mine—was a car, and there were two doors, someone driving, and someone up front being the headlights. But the thing is you have to be fast, right, so I get up there and there’s three other people and out comes our scene—a locker room. So two people become lockers and the other one becomes a bench and I was standing there thinking ‘what else is in a locker room?’ and it was fast, right, so I just pull my shirt halfway off and freeze, because they’re not _motion_ scenes, and the only other thing I could think of that went in a locker room was people changing.”

Brandt’s laughing, and Benji’s laughing too, and it feels as if he hadn’t just had a nightmare about the most recent time he’s almost died.

“Shut up, I panicked!”

“Did you get the part?”

“No, god no, but it’s probably for the best, really. I did lightboard instead. Got a reputation though.”

“I bet. Not many people panic and their initial response is to take their clothes off, thank god that hasn’t happened in the field, Benji, how would you explain that to the Secretary?”

“It was a very specific situation, Brandt, and unless it was replicated in the field I—“ yet another yawn “—don’t think the result would be replicated. Unless we’re infiltrating college theatre, but I like to believe that my acting’s improved since then.”

“Yeah.” It’s quiet, and Benji can tell that Brandt is falling back to sleep.

“Goodnight, Will.” Benji says softly, closing his own eyes.

“Goodnight, Benji.” It’s barely audible, wouldn’t be over a phone, but lying next to each other Benji can hear it perfectly. He definitely prefers being able to hear it. He drifts off to sleep with a smile on his face.

\---

Benji wakes up early in the morning, in a room that is not his own. His face is smushed against Brandt’s shoulder, and he’s tempted to close his eyes and fall back to sleep, the sun is barely even up, but his phone chooses that moment to emit the ungodly screech of a Nazgûl. He extracts his limbs from where they ended up during the night (one under Brandt’s leg and the other, somehow, between them) as carefully as he can—even though Brandt most likely woke up as soon as his alarm started going off—and rolls over, groaning. He drags his phone off the table and squints at it to swipe it off. He closes his eyes and buries his face in the pillow, hoping against hope that time could freeze and he’d be able to just fall asleep for a while longer. Brandt’s bed is warm and comfortable and it’s really nice to just sleep next to someone, sometimes. He can hear Brandt moving around behind him, and then walking around the bed, and Benji can just _tell_ that he’s about to shake him awake. He knows! And then it happens, and Benji just groans and tries to bury himself further into the pillows.

“Benji, we have to go to work. You should probably also go home to get a change of clothes, unless you _want_ to go to work in yesterday’s clothes.”

Benji unburies himself slightly from the pillows and groans again. “Can’t I just borrow some of _yours_ and sleep for an extra fifteen minutes?”

“Fine, but you’ll be the one going to work in a borrowed button-up.”

“Don’t you have anything _comfortable_?”

“Nope. Help yourself, though. I’m going to shower.”

Benji hums in response and listens to Brandt walk away, a door close, the shower start. Benji drifts in a half-sleep until he hears the shower abruptly cut off. He considers, briefly, getting up before Brandt has to wake him up again. He dismisses it, however, when he hears Brandt come back in the room, and the sound of drawers opening and closing. There’s a little _thmp_ of something landing on him, and Benji finally opens his eyes to investigate. A small pile of clothes lie on top of him, and Brandt is still working on buttoning his own shirt.

“Come on, Benj, if you want to shower it’s gotta be fast.”

Benji gives in, dragging himself out from under the covers and bringing the clothes with him into the bathroom. He showers quickly, using Brandt’s soap and shampoo—it smells nice, he might have to switch brands—and changing in the bathroom. Brandt’s shirt is only a little big on him, not enough that anyone would notice, really, but it’s more comfortable than if it had fit perfectly. For all he has to wear suits for missions, Benji isn’t big on shirts that require buttoning. The jeans are dark and, surprisingly, fit perfectly. Well, maybe he shouldn’t be surprised, they’re the same height, but that doesn’t always mean another man’s pants will fit you.

Walking out of the bathroom and fiddling with his sleeve, Benji calls out towards the kitchen, where it sounds like Brandt is making coffee.

“You know, everyone’s going to immediately know these aren’t my clothes. The downside of working with spies, I guess.”

Brandt pours two cups, handing one over to a very grateful Benji. He quirks an eyebrow, “So?”

“ _So_ , what do we want to,” he pauses and waves a hand around vaguely, “tell them. What story are we selling.”

“It’s up to you, Benji, I don’t really care what people think about me.”

“I don’t want people to worry about me. Let’s say we were hanging out and it got late and I crashed on your couch?” He’s wincing the whole time, because honestly, he works with spies, it’s hard to get lies past them. But this is at least half truth. He considers what they did hanging out, and it did get late, and he _did_ technically crash on the couch for at least half the night.

Brandt nods. “And you overslept and didn’t have time to get to your place for extra clothes.”

“Hey it’s technically true.”

Brandt shrugs, finishing off his coffee and retrieving a bagel from the toaster. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

“Fine, fine.” Benji downs his coffee and gets himself mentally ready for the day. It’s going to be a tiring one, he can tell.

\--- 

Halfway through the day and Benji’s already gotten no less than fifteen comments on his clothing. They ranged from “you look nice today, something going on?” to “are you dating Brandt?” which—what?

Benji looks up from his computer and it’s Ethan, of course it’s Ethan. “No?”

Ethan looks him over again, and Benji knows that he knows. Not the whole of it, probably, but enough.

“You’re wearing his shirt, those pants are probably his too, and you smell like his shampoo.”

Benji looks around them then pulls Ethan towards a conference room that’s hardly ever used. He sighs and scrubs his face with his hands.

“Okay, okay, so I _did_ spend the night there but we didn’t do anything, okay, I was getting groceries and, well, someone bumped me and I needed to get somewhere safe and Brandt was closest, he let me crash on his couch.” It all comes out in a rush, and it’s not the prepared cover story, but this is Ethan. Ethan’s safe.

Ethan looks at him for a second, searching. “There’s more to the story.”

Benji winces. “So I may have had a nightmare in the middle of the night and Brandt offered to share the bed just in case it happened again? It was, uh, more convenient, to be closer, and um, that way we wouldn’t run the risk of passing out on the couch while I calmed down?”

Ethan smiles and pats Benji on the shoulder. “I’m glad you have him—“

“We’re _not dating_ , Ethan, rea—“

“As a _friend_ , Benji, I’m glad you have him as a friend. It sounds like he’s helping a lot.”

Benji shuts his mouth and smiles back. “Yeah…. He’s a good guy. Glad he’s on the team.”

“Mhm.”

“Ethan why do I get the feeling you’re going to ask me something that I’m not going to like.”

“Probably because I am.” He pauses. “Do you want to date Brandt?”

“I don’t know! Maybe!” Benji runs his hands through his hair and worries at his lip, staring at the ground for a moment before looking back up at Ethan. “Oh my god, what if I do? Ethan, oh god, what do I _do_?”

Ethan shrugs. “You could tell him.”

“No no no, I can’t tell him, Ethan, what if he says no? God, what if he says _yes_?”

“If he says yes that usually means that you start dating, Benji.”

“No but, okay, I’m not okay, where I am, and I’m already relying on him a _lot_ what if it’s a pity yes? But, if he says no, what if he gets uncomfortable, what he doesn’t want to see me, what if—“

“Benji. Hey. If I know Agent Brandt at all he’s not going to abandon you just because you have romantic feelings toward him. Even if they’re not reciprocated he won’t leave you in the dust.”

“I know. Now, can we pretend this conversation never happened?”

“Sure.” Ethan throws his arm around Benji’s shoulders and leads him out of the room. “Jane’s back from deep cover and I _know_ she’ll want to see you.”

“You’re the worst, Ethan Hunt, she’s going to know this isn’t my shirt, she’s going to know these aren’t my _pants_ , and you know it.”

Ethan just smiles and continues leading Benji down the hallway.

It will be nice to see Jane after so long, though, so Benji doesn’t make any further fuss.

\--- 

Benji leaves work, exhausted after a day full of fielding questions—he thought Ethan’s line of questioning was bad until he ran into Jane and she got that glint in her eye that meant she wouldn’t stop until she had gotten to the bottom of something—to find Brandt waiting for him just outside the building. Brandt hands him a warm to-go cup, which he takes graciously.

“Isn’t it a little late for coffee?” Benji asks before taking a sip.

“It’s not coffee.”

Benji makes a curious noise then takes a sip. “You bought me tea?”

Brandt shrugs, sipping from his own cup.

“So.” Benji draws out the syllable, and Brandt simply raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re waiting for me outside of work, now?”

“Benji I drove you here.”

“Oh. Right, yeah, I forgot.” He laughs a little, he really had forgotten. “Let’s,” he gestures towards the parking garage. It’s quiet as they walk, each sipping at their drinks. The silence isn’t broken until they get into the car.

“You said last night that you were buying groceries?”

“…Yes?” Benji isn’t sure where this is going or why Brandt would even remember that Benji was out shopping.

“Since you didn’t show up at my place with groceries I’m guessing you didn’t buy anything. Which means you probably don’t have food at home.”

“That’s… true… where are you going with this Brandt?”

“The way I see it, you have a few options. Number one, I drop you off at the grocery store. Two, I accompany you to the grocery store. Three, I drop you at home where you’re forced to order take-out. Four, we go back to my place and I make dinner for both of us. Any of those sound good?”

“I—“ He’s not sure, honestly, except that he wants to keep spending time with Brandt. Ethan’s words are echoing through his head. _Do you want to date Brandt?_ “I, uh, do still need groceries, but I don’t think I should do it alone, there are only so many times one man can make a scene in a Stop  & Shop until someone calls the cops. But uh, I do want to, um, hang out? After, I mean, we can get groceries and then maybe you could stay the night?” He’s apprehensively hopeful that Brandt’ll say yes, but it’s silent for too long—it’s probably only a second but it feels like years—so he continues on, nervously. “I mean, you don’t have to! If you don’t want to, that is, but it was really nice to wake up and actually have someone _there_ , you know, and—“

“Yeah.”

“What?”

“It sounds like a plan. I’ll just have to stop by my place to grab some clothes for tomorrow?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine, that’s—that’s great, actually.”

It’s a relatively quiet drive, except when Benji hums along to whatever song’s on the radio, sometimes with accompanying drums. They pull up to Brandt’s apartment right after Benji makes the switch from aggressively humming along to full-on singing the pop song. Brandt turns the engine off but leaves the radio playing.

“I’ll be quick.” Brandt says, over the radio. Benji doesn’t even stop singing, just flashes him a quick thumbs up and returns to drumming his fingers on the dashboard. Brandt gets out and heads into his apartment, and soon the song has ended. The one after isn’t very good, unfortunately, so Benji turns it down and busies himself with double checking his grocery list and trying to think about what to have for dinner.

The door clicks open and Brandt slides in, tossing his bag in the back.

“That _was_ fast.” Benji glances up, smiling, before going back to his phone, muttering to himself about what he still needs.

“It’s almost as if I know where everything is in my house.”

“Oh, _ha ha_.”

Brandt smiles and pulls away from the curb. The soundtrack of the drive is the murmur of the radio overlaid with Benji talking to himself quietly.

\--- 

They’re wandering through the produce aisle when Brandt speaks up. “I can still make dinner for you, if you’d like.”

“What?” Benji nearly drops the apple he was inspecting.

“I can cook dinner at your place. Or did you have something in mind already?”

“No, I was going to ask you if you had any idea what _I_ should make.”

“Well, I’m not going to _make_ you let me cook but I _do_ make a pretty good chicken cacciatore.”

“Oh, well, that sounds delicious. I’ll do the dishes after, then?”

“Sounds like a deal.”

They make their way through the store, Benji buying what’s on his list and Brandt adding what he’ll need to prepare the cacciatore. Benji pays for the lot, with a lot of arguing (that ends with Brandt slipping a couple twenties covertly into Benji’s wallet, which was met with an exasperated _At least let me give you your change back_ , followed by Brandt shrugging and telling Benji to buy him a coffee sometime and they’ll call it even), and they make it out of the store smiling to themselves and loaded down with bags of groceries.

“Oh,” Brandt says as they’re putting the groceries in the back seat of his car, “I’ve been meaning to ask, did you abandon your car here last night?”

“What? Oh! No, I walked here from my apartment. It’s just a couple blocks away and I was just going to get the essentials.”

“I’d hate to see the state of a car that’d been left here overnight.”

“You wouldn’t _see_ a car that’d been left here overnight.”

From then it’s companionable conversation about nothing in particular as they get in the car and drive the short distance to Benji’s apartment. Brandt does most the heavy lifting, since Benji needs to manage to unlock and open the door, and neither one of them particularly wants to make a second trip.

Brandt places his bag of ingredients on the kitchen table while Benji flutters around the kitchen putting things away. Brandt leans against the table, watching for a couple minutes. “You want some help?”

Benji doesn’t even stop putting things away, grabbing two or three items at a time, even when they go in three different places. “Help would be nice, Brandt, unless you just want to sit around doing nothing.”

“Well I would start dinner but you’re taking up the whole kitchen. I am enjoying the show though.”

“ _Show?_ ” Benji nearly drops the _five_ items he was balancing in the crook of his arm, having to hurriedly shift his whole body and reposition his hands just to prevent a produce avalanche.

Brandt raises an eyebrow and Benji scowls at him and goes back to putting the groceries away. They’re both smiling, however, the rest of the time. Once all the groceries are where they belong Benji stores the empty bags and makes a sweeping gesture towards the kitchen. Brandt pushes off of the table and gets to work.

Benji, of course, opens up his laptop and plays video games. He’s a bit distracted, though, thinking about how it probably shouldn’t be this comfortable having someone else in his kitchen, cooking, while he’s doing something completely different. They’re not talking but it’s not awkward, it’s a good silence, a silence that would be easily broken if either one cared to do so.

He loses track of time. It feels like it could have been hours or seconds when a hand is placed gently on his shoulder and Brandt is leaning over him slightly.

“You at a good stopping point? Dinner’s ready.”

“Yeah just give me—“ He taps several keys in quick succession “— _one_ second.”

“I’m going to go plate up.” Brandt squeezes Benji’s shoulder and retreats back to the kitchen. Benji finishes up the mission—he really was close to the end of it—and saves the game. He’s in the kitchen before Brandt is even done getting the second plate ready.

“Mmm. Smells good, looks good, bet it tastes good, too.” Benji peers over Brandt’s shoulder.

“Well why don’t you take this, sit down, and find out?” He hands Benji the plate in his hands and makes a shooing motion towards the table before taking his own plate and joining him.

Benji takes a bite and makes a pleased noise. “This is really good, Brandt.”

“Thanks.” Brandt takes his own bite, making a considering face. “Could’ve added more oregano, though.”

“So do you cook a lot? Or are you just trying to impress me.” He winks.

Brandt laughs. “Do I need to impress you? But yeah, I try to cook for myself whenever I’m not on a mission. It’s… calming, I think.”

“I’ve always been shit at cooking. I try, and I usually eat whatever comes out of it, but it’s never really… good….” He grimaces, then cuts another piece of chicken. “I am impressed, though.” He uses his fork to point at Brandt, before taking his bite.

Brandt smiles and lets the line of conversation drop, and after that they’re too busy eating to start a new one.

Once they’re done eating, Benji grabs his plate and Brandt’s and takes them to the kitchen. Brandt follows him in. “You wash, I dry?” Brandt leans against the counter, and Benji laughs at him.

“I do happen to own a dishwasher, which I am very happy to use. All I have to do is the pan, I’ll meet you in the living room in a couple minutes? You can choose the channel.”

“Alright, if you insist.”

“It was the deal, you cook, I clean. And I think I got the good end of it, if we’re being completely honest.”

Brandt smiles. “I’m sure you did.”

Benji spends the next five minutes scrubbing a pan, and then the thirty seconds after that loading dishes and silverware into the dishwasher. He’s out of the kitchen and sitting next to Brandt before Brandt has even had time to decide if the channel he’s picked is a good one.

“What’re we watching?”

“Some action movie, I think it’s about spies, actually. I’m curious to see how much they’ve gotten right.”

“Huh.” Benji nods consideringly and doesn’t even make a move for the remote.

The next hour and a half is spent getting in each other’s space and commenting on how innacurate the movie is—god no we don’t have that technology there is no way; come _on_ that would _kill_ him and it doesn’t even look like he feels it!; didn’t Ethan do that once? In half that time?; god why is he having sex with that asset that is _so unprofessional_ —and by the end they’re both infuriated, somehow, in a good way. Perhaps it’s the feeling of being in the loop, that people might believe something so inaccurate, or maybe it was the easy closeness they both have, that this is yet another thing they share. But, well, whatever it is, it’s late, and the movie is over, and Benji is ready to go to sleep.

“I think I’m going to bed. You coming?” Benji stands up, carefully, avoiding Brandt’s eyes. It’s a mixture of embarrassment and worry that Brandt’s going to say no, or elect to sleep on the couch.

But Brandt just smiles at him, says, “Yeah, I’m coming.”

Benji’s breath leaves him in a rush as Brandt easily gets off the couch, grabs his overnight bag, and follows him into the bedroom. Benji finds himself nervous, as he’s getting ready for bed, Brandt doing the same. They slept in the same bed just last night, he shouldn’t be nervous, right? He doesn’t even know _why_ he’s nervous except maybe he’s been, well, thinking. About what Ethan said, the dating thing. Maybe he _does_ want to date Brandt. It would be like this all the time, they’d be able to eat dinner together all the time, comment on movies, go to bed at the end of the day. _Plus_ , Benji thinks, _he already knows I’m ace, so that’s a bomb that’s already dropped._

He’s still nervous when he climbs into the bed, Brandt already there—how he’d gotten ready faster Benji has no idea—and he freezes for a millisecond, unsure how to place himself. Does he face away from Brandt? Towards him? On his back, staring at the ceiling? He’s not sure and Brandt must pick up on it because he’s opening his mouth, starting to ask a question, probably, and Benji panics and blurts out “Big spoon or little spoon?”

Brandt’s mouth closes and it looks like he’s trying not to laugh, which snaps Benji out of whatever hesitance he’d been feeling. “Hey!” He protests. “It’s a legitimate question! You can tell a lot about a guy if they choose big spoon or little spoon.”

“What if they don’t really have a preference?”

“Then they’re easy to deal with.”

“What if, tonight, they want to be little spoon?”

“Then—then that would be, uh, really nice, probably.”

“Benji.”

“Yeah?”

“I think you’re overthinking this. C’mere.” Brandt motions towards him and scoots more towards the middle of the bed.

“Okay—yeah.” Benji finishes getting in the bed, scooting up toward Brandt, and positioning himself, hesitating on where to put his hands, until Brandt grabs one and pulls it around his waist to rest on his chest.

Benji practically sinks into the mattress in relief, nervous energy gone. Brandt still hasn’t let go of his hand, stroking gently with his thumb. Benji gives a light squeeze and smiles into the back of Brandt’s neck.

“Goodnight, Will.” Benji whispers. It feels like a whispering moment.

“Goodnight, Benji.”

It’s silent for a few seconds before Benji whispers again. “Will?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“Any time.”

Benji falls asleep smiling, feeling warm and safe.

\--- 

Benji wakes up before the sun and before his alarm to Brandt trying to gently maneuver his way out of bed. Benji makes a confused noise and sleepily tries to hold on more tightly. Brandt is _warm_ and _comfortable_ and he’s _leaving_.

“Hey,” Brandt says quietly. “I have an early meeting. I have to get up.”

Benji just squeezes tighter and mumbles “What’s the password?” into Brandt’s chest.

“Please let me go so Hunley doesn’t fire me?”

“Nope.” Benji doesn’t budge.

“How about this, then?” Brandt leans over and kisses Benji on the forehead.

Benji smiles softly and lets go, rolling onto his back. “Yeah, that’ll work.”

Brandt runs a hand through Benji’s hair. “You have an hour before you have to get up, go back to sleep. I’ll see you at work.”

Benji hums and closes his eyes. He listens to Brandt getting ready for the day until he drifts back to sleep.

The next time Benji wakes up it’s to his alarm. For a second he forgets earlier, panics a little when he notices that Brandt is gone, but then he remembers. He buries his face in his hands—he can’t believe that happened. His alarm goes off again and Benji groans, rolling out of bed. He doesn’t want to go to work but then again, Brandt’ll be there. Benji finds himself smiling the whole time he’s getting ready, and even all day at work.

\--- 

_To: Agent Brandt  
meet me at my place tonight? i’ll pick something up from the mexican place around the corner?_

_From: Agent Brandt  
Sounds like a plan. That’s the place with the good fajitas right?_

_To: Agent Brandt  
that it is_

\--- 

Benji walks into his apartment with a warm bag of food and a plan. He really hopes that this morning wasn’t a dream otherwise this won’t work out at all. He’s worrying about it up until the point that there’s a knock on his door.

He opens it and the anxiety melts away, because this is Brandt—he’s safe with Brandt.

“Hey.” Benji leans against the doorway and smiles.

Brandt smiles back and moves a bit closer. “Hey, yourself.”

“What’s the password?” He smirks as Brandt is visibly caught off-guard at the question, but his face smooths out into a fond smile. Brandt moves forward and reaches up to kiss Benji on the forehead.

“Nope, sorry, the password’s changed.” Benji is grinning, now, and Brandt’s smile becomes mischievous. He leans in close and at the last moment swerves to kiss Benji on the cheek. When he pulls back, there’s still hardly any distance between them.

“Hmm, not quite.” Benji’s voice has gone soft with anticipation.

Brandt leans in, very close, and whispers, “Then how about this?” before kissing Benji. It’s sweet and chaste but it feels like coming home after a long day to a warm bed and a cup of tea.

“Yeah, that—that’ll work.” Benji grabs Brandt’s hand and pulls him into the apartment. Once the door is closed behind them Benji leans forward and kisses Brandt again. This time is longer, slower, and it feels like time has stopped.

The kiss ends and Benji pulls back a little, takes one look at Brandt’s face, and leans back in, but he’s stopped by Brandt kissing him on the cheek and pulling back. Benji shoots him a confused look and Brandt just smiles for a second. “The food’ll get cold.” He squeezes Benji’s hand—Benji hadn’t even realized that he hadn’t let go of it—and leads him toward the kitchen table.

“Oh. Yeah. Food.” Benji pouts a bit when he has to let go of Brandt’s hand.

“Hey.” Benji looks up at Brandt, who’s smiling at him. “We have all night.”

Benji smiles back. “Yeah. We do.”

\--- 

Two months later when Benji is cleared for field duty, he smiles all the way home—where Brandt, a warm bed, and a nice cup of tea are waiting.


End file.
